The Story Never Ends
by awishuponastar
Summary: Being promoted to Minister for Magic, Hermione finds herself struggling to juggle her private and professional life. Politics takes up a lot of her time with Muggles starting to go against wizards, and Ron is putting pressure on her to marry her and to commit more to being a present mother. And as if this doesn't make her life difficult enough, her heart is haunted by old love.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: the characters and background stories are obviously not mine, nor is all the magic. That all belongs to the brilliant J.K. Rowling.  
Author's note: I kind of disregarded a lot of things that officially happened as well as any existing timeline. The plot takes place in our time, so I also took certain things from reality, but used them for fictional purposes.  
I hope you all enjoy the story, and if you happen to have any comment, anything whatsoever, please contact me or write a review.**

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**The Story Never Ends**

**Chapter 1**

September 19 2017.

It was still dark, and rain was softly pitter-pattering against the window when Hermione Granger woke up with a jolt. She quickly glanced at the red numbers on the radio alarm that was sitting on her nightstand. _Merlin's beard, is that the time? _Still asleep, Ron groaned as she tried to disentangle herself from his arms and throw off the duvet.

"Ron", she whispered, "Ron! Let go of me!"  
Ron sleepily opened his eyes. "Whazz zthe time?" he asked, his voice slurring.  
"It's 5 a.m., I overslept," Hermione whispered sharply, while swinging her legs out of bed and putting her feet on the cold wood of their bedroom floor.  
"But no lightz yet? Come back to bed..." his voice trailed off, and he turned around facing the window, pulling the duvet back over his shoulders.  
"Well, I can't, important meeting today," Hermione said under her breath, as Ron's familiar snore filled the bedroom again.

She went for the bathroom, tiptoeing on the landing to make sure she wouldn't wake their daughter, Rose. Looking in the mirror at her reflection, she sighed. Her hair was a mess, standing upright in several places and some loose strands that curled weirdly over her left shoulder. She also couldn't help but notice the bags that were beginning to form under her eyes, the small worry lines on her forehead and the subtle hollowness in her cheeks. Her posture wasn't any better, she thought, seeing how her shoulders were slightly hunched forward, her right shoulder even more than her left. Probably because of the heavy shoulder bag she was used to bring with her almost everywhere she went. Never leaving her work behind, she thought a little sadly.

After brushing her teeth, she blindly grasped for her wand to fix things, but it wasn't there. Then she remembered that Rose had been practicing the movements of a few charms the prior evening. Without turning any lights on, she slid into her daughter's bedroom. While ungracefully balancing on one leg to put on her black trousers, she whispered _accio wand_ a few times. Her focus shifted too often between the spell and her suit, however, and her wand stopped mid-air, clattering on the ground.

A small silhouette rose from the bed in the corner. "Mummy?" the little girl said, rubbing her eyes.  
"Shhh" Hermione hushed, "it's all right. Mummy is just taking back her wand." While saying so, she stepped forward and picked it up.  
"Are you leaving, mummy?" Rose asked, pouting her lips.  
"Yes, sweetheart, I'm afraid so. I've got a very busy day at work today," Hermione answered, stooping down at the bedside. "But I'll be home tonight, I promise."  
"But what about the promise to go to Diagon Alley with me today?" Rose pouted even more. "You said we'd go look for a small broom for me and my first set of robes and have ice cream at Florean Fortescue afterwards."  
"Oh dear, was that today? I'm so sorry, but I think I must have forgotten it. You know what? Your dad is home today, he's off duty at the moment, so I'm sure he will want to take you to Diagon Alley. And I guess he will even want to give you your first flying lesson as well. And I will make it up to you, I swear... but for now, I'll have to go to work."

Hermione glanced at her watch. She was supposed to be at the Ministry at half past six, and she had only 45 minutes left. Not bothering if she made any noise now, she rushed into her own bedroom. She picked the first white shirt she saw in her wardrobe, put on a black blazer and heels. She couldn't be bothered with makeup now, so she tucked her red lipstick and mascara in the pockets of her jacket and swiftly ran a comb through her unruly curls.

Before going down the stairs, Rose stopped her. "I want a pinky promise... and a goodbye-hug," the girl said, already opening her arms.  
Hermione hoisted her up in her arms and swung her a little above her head. "You little monkey, here, pinky promise," she said, holding out her finger.  
Rose wrapped her small finger around her mother's and rested her head on her shoulder. "I love you, mummy"  
"I love you too, honey." Hermione kissed the soft red curls of her daughter, before putting her back on the ground. "Now, do go back to bed, it's way too early for children to be up. I'll see you tonight, dear. Be good!"

Hermione closed the front door behind her. The fresh, damp morning air greeted her, as well as the rain droplets that blew in her face. She inhaled sharply, exhaled more calmly and Disapparated instantly to the centre of London.

Even though it was quite early in the morning, the city was already full of life. It was mostly people who came and went to work that roamed the streets, huddling in large coats against the streaming wind, hands wrapped around a Starbucks latte macchiato or espresso, depending on the hours they'd been up. In any case, there were enough people about so that Hermione could Apparate freely onto the pavement of one of the main streets without being noticed. She then rounded a few blocks until she came upon the red telephone box that led straight to the Ministry. She stepped inside, glad to be out of the rain. Before typing in the secret code, she checked whether no-one was keeping a curious eye on her. Her fingers easily found the right keys and a voice welcomed her _Welcome to the Ministry of Magic_ as she sank in the floor.

The black marble hall was buzzing with activity. The first time Hermione had come down here, she'd been stunned. The entrance hall had seemed enormous, and she had marvelled at the sight of almost everything that there was to see: the giant statues in the fountain, the wizards entering through the hearths in enwrapped in green flames, the flocks of mail that shot from office window to office window, the owls that flew around, trying to avoid the mail... Now, after nine years of employment, it had become a very ordinary place for her, something which she thought about with a certain melancholy.

Ever since the battle against Lord Voldemort had taken place, Hermione had had the feeling she was left with a hole in her heart. A tiny piece of her was void of happiness, and no matter how hard she tried, this missing puzzle piece coloured her view on things, turning things that were once special and fantastic into a dull or sad grey, just like this black hall. To avoid this particular emotion, she'd fled into her job at the Ministry for months, nay, years on end, building a career and climbing the ladders. Until now. There was nothing to climb to anymore, as she had reached the summit of power, the title of Minister for Magic.

She made for a door on her left. She wasn't paying attention to anything that happened around her, but moved on an automatic pilot instead. That way she didn't notice a man who came from the other side and couldn't evade him in time. With full walking speed, she bumped into him, causing the papers he was holding, to scatter at their feet.

Hermione started to blush in embarrassment, a girlish habit she had not yet been able to change. Immediately, she squatted down and wiped the papers together, while mumbling: "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry, I was in a hurry and I should have looked where I was going."

The man interrupted her, "Don't worry about it, they're just papers, it would have been worse had I held a cup of tea in my hands."

He had a warm, low voice, and it soothed her immensily. It was the kind of sound you just longed to hear early in the morning, the kind of sound that gently brushed your ears from the inside, filling you with a glowing sensation that was bound to erupt in innocent glee.

When she stood up, shuffling the papers to their previous order, she looked him over. Quickly and stealthily. Although she believed looking at him was more nerve-wrecking for her than it was for him, seeing that he wasn't exactly looking at her, but at the floor where his papers had been. He was a tall man with ebony brown hair, that he wore slightly longer than fashion dictated, green-brownish eyes, that had an infinite depth to them, and a rather fair complexion. Those were the first things that caught her eye, apart from his jet-black attire.

"Please," she said, glimpsing at her watch, "do allow me to buy you a tea. I feel bad for knocking you over."

The man finally looked at her and for a second she thought a glimpse of recognition shot across the man's face, as he gasped briefly at the sight of her. Not just the normal kind of recollection, when people saw she was the Minister, but the kind where there had been a deeper connection somehow. She wasn't sure if she imagined it, but it certainly caught him off-guard. He recollected himself in no time, though, and kindly declined her offer, saying he too was in a hurry.

"All right, but I owe you that drink," Hermione said, smiling at him.  
"Granted we ever meet again, that is. Now, I'll bid you goodbye, Minister." With a light bow, the man took the papers from her and wheeled around to the nearest fireplace. A whoosh of light green, and he had disappeared.

Hermione looked at her watch once more, she was awfully late for the meeting. Well, awfully late according to the President's standards she thought. Coming up to her office, Nathan Collins, her secretary, hurried straight towards her in big strides, wearing a panicked look on his face.  
"Mrs Weasley! Mrs Weas-!" he called through the corridor.  
"_Not_ yet, Mr Collins" Hermione said, a little annoyed.  
"My sincerest apologies..._Miss Granger,_ but may I point out to you that the President and his Ministers are impatiently waiting for you in the meeting room." The panicked look on his face was translated to his voice, which had become rather squeaky. He gently pushed Hermione to the other end of the corridor.  
"I know, I'm late. At what time did he arrive?" Hermione asked, shrugging his hand off her back.  
"I don't know the exact time, I wasn't here yet. Miss Wilde had welcomed him, warmly as per usual, I have no doubt. She told me just a minute ago, before I came to fetch you, that he must have been waiting about a quarter now. I suppose it's the time difference that makes him quite cranky?"  
"All right, do you have the files? Are the photos from the newspaper articles in place?"  
"Yes, here they are, and I double-checked the newspaper cuts. Do you require any other service? Can I send Miss Wilde in with some refreshments?"  
"Please, yes, and a very strong coffee for me," Hermione said, before opening the door and stepping inside.

The meeting room wasn't in itself very large, but due to the enchanted window, much like the enchanted ceiling at Hogwarts, that covered the entire back wall, you had the impression of it being a lot more spacious. Almost everything in the room was made of massive wood, and almost everything had the same shade, varying a little bit between dark oak and mahogany. So the beauty of it was to be found in the details, such as the gold leaf ornamentations on the top rails of the chairs, or the intricate pattern that was painted on the surface of the table, or the small Victorian lights that were hanging from the walls.

Closing the door behind her, Hermione could see that all the chairs were occupied by men and women in suits. Some of them were leafing through papers, others were busying themselves with some writing, but it was all done in utter silence. One man was standing in front of the enchanted window, hands locked behind his back, and from what little she could see in the reflection of the window, he was scowling and very irritated.

"Mr Redford, excuse me for my lateness, but I was held up this morning," Hermione said, walking up to her spot at the head of the table and putting her things down.  
"How unfortunate. It occurred to me that you might have forgotten my visit," Mr Redford said, still not facing her, "so this meeting better be worth the wait. Now, let us begin," he suddenly turned around and seated himself at the right of Hermione.  
"Right you are, on the agenda today is," Hermione began.  
"Mr Brisley, tell me what is on the agenda today," Mr Redford interrupted, waving vaguely at one of his men. Hermione's mouth fell open a bit and she was speechless.  
The man called Brisley cleared his throat, fiddled with his glasses and said: "The political situation in both America and Great Britain, the economic situation and a war pact, sir."  
"Yes, we can go through that pretty easily, first the political situation. Miss Wraith, if you please" Mr Redford said, glancing briefly at Hermione with a grin on his lips.

"There's been a lot going on in the States, especially amongst the no-maj population, and it's generally bad things. Floods of immigrants from Latin-America and other places, the poor gradually hitting rock-bottom, low-quality education in some states, and on top of that a president who hasn't accomplished anything yet of what he promised since his election. Conclusion, the people are stirring, and I've been reported that there are anti-wizardinggroups rising, claiming that it's us, wizards and witches, that are the real cause of all the ill luck."

She paused for a minute, inhaling deeply and loudly. Then she continued in one breath, "Because of this er... peculiar president, MACUSA and the White House aren't on talking terms right now, which is, of course, a considerable problem seeing that these anti-wizardinggroups might pose a threat to us in the future."

The president licked his lips, and said, "So that was the political situation, and now the economics. Mr Sharpe?"

"As Miss Wraith already mentioned, the economic situation is dire at the moment. It's the same old story, really, the rich are too rich, the poor are too poor. But what most concerns me most about this, however, is the fact that our business with the no-majes, due to these anti-wizardinggroups and due to poverty, is going down. You know, the whole entertainment industry. Either people are taking a stance against magic etc. or they don't have the means to fully immerse themselves in the magic."

"That's what I had to say about that, not let's us continue with the war pact, shall we? Mr Latimer, you prepared the conditions?" While saying this, the president stood up and began to pace around the meeting room.

At this point, Hermione's head was spinning, and the president's ways rubbed her the wrong way. But the fact that muggles were starting to protest at the other side of the Atlantic as well was worrying her too, and they would both need each other's support to address this. The president's attitude, however, really made Hermione want to reconsider her willingness to cooperate.

"Mr President? If I may? Miss Wraith was talking about these people possibly threatening the wizarding community. I've received similar news lately. Could you elaborate a bit more on the nature of these groups? Are they actively planning something? Or are they just spreading rumours? Do you think there is a link between the different groups, could they be working together? And are there familiar faces amongst these groups?" Hermione asked, leaning back a bit and crossing her arms.  
"Mrs Wraith?" Mr Redford said, nodding at her again.  
"We have our suspicions, but it is still to early to make statements. And a specialised team of Aurors is now looking into it, this very moment."

After this short intervention, Mr Latimer began rattling off his list regarding the war pact. The content of the conditions was incredibly superfluous to Hermione's opinion and most of it seemed to be in absolute favour of MACUSA. She was no longer listening attentively, and her thoughts wandered elsewhere, back to the man she'd run into earlier. Thinking about him made her feel a little bit guilty. No, it wasn't just recalling his face that felt so wrong, it was the faint tickle deep in her stomach that came with it. There was something about this man, something she couldn't quite identify, that made her feel intrigued. Maybe it was his deep voice, or maybe his unreadable features?

"Miss Granger?" Mr Redford's voice called her back to the meeting.  
"Er... yes. You were saying?"  
Mr Redford arched an eyebrow and looked displeased. "The war pact? Are you going to sign it? Do you agree with the conditions laid out by Mr Latimer."  
He was scrutinising her, leaning a little into her, his hands placed firmly on the table. Hermione merely smiled politely and said, "About that, Mr President. I haven't made up my mind yet, and I think it best to postpone my answer on your proposition. If you leave your notes with my secretary, I will discuss this thoroughly this afternoon with my own panel of Ministers and make sure to send our decision this evening by owl," Hermione said, her tone all professional.  
"Disgraceful!" he exclaimed.  
"Disgraceful?"  
"I've already talked this over with your Ministers, if this your way of saying you don't want this partnership. This, Miss Granger, is one-time offering."  
"Mr President, I did not say nor insinuated such a thing. I think a bit of fresh air would do you good. This meeting is over." Hermione stood up, extending her hand. Mr Redford did not shake it, but merely snorted and gave a sign with his hand to dismiss his ministers.  
Before leaving himself, the president said, "May I kindly jog your memory, Miss Granger? America's proven a far better associate than an enemy."  
"I remember, Mr Redford, thank you for your precious time."

"Merlin's pants, that man looked heated," Nathan said, coming in after the men.  
"No comment, Mr Collins. Would you be so kind to defer all my activities this afternoon and assemble the council? It's going to be a long day."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the wait; I'm not sure about this chapter though, but thought I'd already let you wait too long. So, if any thoughts pop up, let me know. Also, I'm probably going to change the title of my story somewhere along the way, because I feel like it's not a proper title.**

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**Chapter 2**

October 30, 2017

Hermione stumbled into her house through the backdoor, carrying three shopping bags, filled to the brim. Her keys were jammed between her teeth, with her foot she kicked the door shut and she called Ron to come and help her unload the groceries. That was when a note floated towards her that said that Ron was off taking their daughter to see Harry's family. She sighed audibly and heaved the bags onto the kitchen table. From the back pocket of her jeans, she withdrew her wand and performed a simple locomotion spell that made cans, bottles, vegetables and other types of food flying through the air to their proper places in the fridge and closets.

Despite her powerful position in the wizarding world and despite being extraordinarily adept at using spells, Hermione didn't enjoy bringing her wand out too often outside of work. Somehow, she just didn't feel the need to do everything with magic, especially smaller chores or things like unpacking groceries. She didn't know why, though; she blamed her Muggle side for it. Holding onto this way of living, she also thought it wasn't all too bad for Rose to get accustomed to "normal" things as well, like doing the dishes, or cooking, or vacuuming. For when she would eventually meet her grandparents, or so Hermione kept justifying to herself. Ron didn't share her opinion on this, quite the opposite in fact, and they'd sometimes had disputes about it that usually ended in cursing and mean words.

When everything was settled in place, Hermione shuck off her coat and handbag and left it both on the counter. Gratefully embracing the silence, she made herself a tea and sank into the sofa in the living-room. The quiet didn't last long, as a small parliament of owls landed on the window sill, carrying three packages of envelopes. At first, she tried to ignore them, but the adamant percussive hits on the glass got to her nerves fast and annoyed she opened the window. The owls hooted happily and flew in, circling her head with loud cries. Then without notice, they dropped the packages onto the carpet and flew away. A speckled one perched down on her shoulder and pecked her hair, looking for treats.

"Auch, stop that, I don't have any treats right now. Tell whoever sent you to give you some worms on my behalf, now shoo," Hermione said, giving the bird a shove with her hands.

With a disgruntled screech, the owl took off, quickly flapping its wings to join its flock again. Hermione watched it until they were nothing but mere dots in the distance, almost swallowed by the clouds. The envelopes were scattered at her feet, the thread that had kept them together undone by the shock of the fall. She gathered them and sat back down in the sofa, her legs tucked up under her. Most of them had stamps from the Ministry on them, directly addressed to her and forwarded by Nathan. Two of them were letters from Hogwarts, the first by Neville and the other by Professor McGonagall; besides some trivial anecdotes from both of them, they both included an official invitation for the Winter Fest that Hogwarts would host this year.

The Winter Fest had been installed two years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and was an annual event between the three most renowned European wizarding schools. The three schools wanted to maintain a collaborative relationship, but since the Triwizard Tournament had been canceled a few years prior, because it was deemed too dangerous after the death of Cedric Diggory, they had to come up with something else, and that was when the idea of the Winter Fest was born. The Fest consisted of a week-long programme with some class exchanges, fierce Quidditch matches, a cosy winter market with food and merch stalls in Hogsmeade, an ice rink and many other activities. The climax of this week, and perhaps the event that students looked most forward to, was the Christmas Ball that was still traditionally held in an astonishingly decorated Great Hall.

Hermione and most of her friends always received invites for this Christmas event, as it was an opportunity to see each other again, and to talk about the past, the present and the future. But Hermione, unlike the others, was ashamed to say she'd only managed to go three times in sixteen years, and each time she'd been called back to the office during the night. In the earlier days to do the administrative tasks her officials didn't want to do over the Christmas Holidays, but that were urgent nonetheless, and later because she as an official didn't want to take the same advantage of the people working for her.

She looked at the invitations for a few minutes. They were blueish pieces of parchment with loopy handwriting; the letters changed places every now and then, revealing a different message, like a billboard. The disappointment was already tangible; Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to make it, not with the new case on the table. Since the President of MACUSA had pointed out to her that Muggles were indeed openly blaming the wizarding community for all that went wrong, she'd also noticed a steady increase in similar complaints in the UK. Nothing too harmful yet, but she was aware that people were starting to look at her for a response.

Biting her lip, she folded the invitations back into the envelopes and laid them at the bottom of the stack. It was then that a light pink envelope caught her eye. She brushed the other envelopes aside. It was a letter, the writing, that was huge and clumsy, she recognised to be from her daughter. Careful not to get too much glitter on her hands, she opened it. There were two sheets of paper in it, one being the letter and the other a drawing of what she thought was their family. Smiling, she put the drawing on her lap, and read the letter; it said: _Dear Mummy, this is my first letter to you. I love you a lot, but I also miss you a lot. I wish you were more here to play with me. Daddy says your too busy. Love Rose._

Hermione felt her heart sink a bit. Of course she knew she was away from home a lot, since Ron frequently reminded her of that, but to hear it from her own daughter. It brought about a deeper realisation, a sense of guilt as well, one that felt as heavy as a brick, nestling itself in her stomach.

At that moment, she heard the front door opening and Rose's voice resonating in the hall. "Is mummy home, daddy? Can I tell her? Can I tell her?!"  
Rose didn't wait for an answer, and bursted into the living-room and flung herself around Hermione's neck the second she saw her. "Mummy, do you know what happened today? It was superb!"  
Hermione laughed, the pink letter pushed to the back of her mind. "Rose, honey, do tell me. I'm burning to know!"  
Meanwhile, Ron also entered. He made short eye-contact with Hermione, and she felt something was off with him, but his face didn't give her any clues. It wasn't annoyance, or anger, or gloom, but it wasn't happiness either. He didn't wait for her to say anything, but took off to his office.

Her attention shifted back to her daughter, who was bouncing up and down in her lap. "I did magic, mummy! Can you believe it? Auntie Ginny said I could hold her wand if I wanted, and I said "yes, please", and then I held it, and then there was magic, and then I tried to do the Summoning Charm like you taught me and it worked! But daddy really told me off for it, and then I cried."

"You can do the Summoning Charm? Already? That's wonderful, darling! Oh, I'm so proud of you!" Hermione exclaimed happily, hugging Rose tightly. "But I can understand why your dad reprimanded you, even though I may not agree with his methods. You cannot use magic yet, because it's prohibited by law to use magic outside of a school, like Hogwarts, when underaged, and you, Rosie, are still far from eighteen."

"What does "prohibited" mean, mummy?" Rosie asked, laying her head on Hermione's shoulder.  
"It means something is not allowed, or forbidden," Hermione answered, caressing Rose's hair.  
"Then it's not fair. I want to practice spells. Do I really have to wait until I'm eleven to go to Hogwarts? That's five years from now."  
"I suppose you'll have to, but you can still practice the movements, like you did before? And I'm sure that once you've got your own wand, you'll master the spells in no time," Hermione said. "By the way, how were uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny?"

Excited about the new topic, Rose began rambling on about James and Albus and that they'd found a bunch of gnomes in the garden and that James was a show-off, because he assured them that he could easily get rid of them, but then he failed and angered the creatures instead. She then told of other creatures that were lurking in the bushes and grasses, one of them recognised as bowtruckles by Albus.

Hermione was so absorbed by her daughter's stories, that she almost didn't see Ron slipping back in. Silently, he moved to the kitchen, the same pensive, but unreadable expression on his face. She made to stand up, and Rose looked at her quizzically.  
"Honey, why don't you go and see if you can find any bowtruckles in our garden? The sun is still out for an hour or so," she said, and Rose smiled enthusiastically, leaping off the sofa. "Don't forget to put your coat on, I suppose it's chillier than it looks."

Rose scooted off to the garden, through the front door and walking the little path at the side of the house. She looked for her mother only once when she passed by the window, making a funny face. Then she disappeared out of sight, and Hermione followed Ron into the kitchen.

He was sitting in silence, pretending to flick through a copy of The Daily Prophet. She knew it was pretend, because his head was tilted a little bit too much, and his fingers never fiddled with the fringes of the paper when he was actually reading. Sometimes these little things and the fact that she was aware of them, caught her by surprise, even though she'd known him for more than ten years.

"Something is bugging you," she said matter-of-factly, breaking the silence.

"It's nothing," Ron mumbled.

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't ignore me and be so quiet and furtive."

"Usually, when I say 'It's nothing', it means I don't want to talk," Ron said a little louder.

"Not talking is not an option I'm afraid. Communication, Ron, remember? It's what we need to work on." Hermione braced herself, she knew she was pushing boundaries here. If there was one thing Ron absolutely didn't like, it was being pressed to talk. And if she was completely honest with herself, she already knew what was weighing on both of them.

Ron looked the other way, turning his face away from her. With his gaze he followed Rose, who was skipping in the garden, through the kitchen window. "I can see when you're not acting normally," Hermione sat down next to him, and laid her hand on his arm. This made him turn back to her, and jerk his arm away.

"I'm not acting normal? _I'm_ not acting normal," Ron scoffed, "You're the one who rejected me, you're the one who lets her family down, you're the one who neglects her friends, do I need to continue? And you're going to tell _me_ I'm not acting normally?"

Hermione sighed irritably, "Ron, we've been through this before. I'm not ready yet for marriage and I'm not letting our family down just because I don't want to have another child. And about my career, we made these decisions together, so it's just the way it is... I don't understand why you're bringing this up now, Ron. Have you been drinking? Did Harry make a comment again?"

"Just the way it is, listen to yourself. I've never written a letter to _my _mum saying I didn't get to spend enough time with her, and nor have I seen any other family we know where this kind of thing happens. They've all got a _happy_ family, unlike us. And leave Harry out of this, he's got nothing to do with this," Ron snapped, pushing himself off the chair.

"You know about this letter?" Hermione asked, quite appalled.

"How do you thing she posted the thing? She's seven, for Dumbledore's sake."

"You put Rose up to this? To writing me? That's sick, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, "And, quite frankly, it's always you who's complaining! I've never heard _her_ complain about -"

"About _what?_" Ron said sharply, "about that time when we would all go to France to have a nice holiday, but it had to be cancelled because you had duties? Or about that time when you would throw Rose a birthday party, but at the end of the day couldn't make it? Or about that time when, not so long ago, you were going to take her to Diagon Alley to buy her her first broomstick, but forgot? Or about the hundreds I-will-make-it-up-to-yous? No, she didn't complain, and d'you know why? Because _I_ was there to pick up the pieces, I was there to mend what you had broken, each and every single time. Yeah, daddy Ron will solve things, he's home, he's only an Auror, he's got loads of time on his hands. And what about us? When was the last time _we_ did something even slightly romantic together? Right, over a month ago, when I dared to propose to you, and you had to run off because someone needed you at the office."

At this stage, Ron was nearly shouting, his face all hot and red. To his embarrassment tears were also rolling down his cheeks, like small but constant rivulets flowing doing a mountainside. Hermione wanted to be emphatic, wanted to hold him and share his distress, but she couldn't. Anger rushed through her as well, and ironically, because he didn't understand her feelings, just like she didn't understand his.

"Rose is a clever girl, she knows that I have responsibilities, but-" Hermione said crossly.

"Ah, responsibilities, there you have it! What about your responsibilities to your own bloody daughter and to me, your bloody partner? Have you-" Ron retorted.

"- she also knows that I love her, and-" Hermione continued, now raising her voice as well.

"- ever thought about that, now have you? Do you even know how painful it is to see Rose's disappointment? Not to mention to feel my own disappointment when you said "no" and considered my proposal almost like a business proposition. It's -"

"-And that's that, OK? And It's not my fault that you wanted to propose to me! And if you'd even listened to me, you'd have known that marrying wasn't in the cards right now. But-"

"- full on humiliation, I tried hard Hermione, but I don't know what kind of partner you want me to be, to be honest. Do you even want me to stay, or am I so repellent to you that you can't handle the idea of living with me for a long time. Because-"

"- do you ever listen? No, you don't, because you have this conservative idea of what a woman's life should look like. Marrying, having children, keeping the husband happy, but providing for the family, that's only for the husband. You, Ron, want to turn me into something I'm not, I'm not a housewife, and I'm not going to be one. Never!"

"- if you want me to leave, I will. There are better suited wives out there I'm sure. I should've married Lavender when I had to chance."

They were yelling at each other, each throwing their own thoughts, without minding the other. Hermione had heard Ron's last remark though, and stopped dead. "Ah, so you wanted to marry Lavender? Well, I've heard she still free, and probably wants to shag you right away! She banged the table and turned on her heels.

Without saying another word, she strode to the hall and slammed a few doors in between. From the kitchen, she heard Ron cursing loudly, calling after her to come back and face him like an adult. Her handbag and coat forgotten, she left the house, Disapparating instantly.

When she materialised again, she was shaking and cold shivers ran up and down her spine. It'd been a long time since Ron and she had had such a row, and being away from home she scolded herself for running. She was never really there, not when things were going great, and not when things were going badly. Another reason why a marriage would never work out. Supporting Ron through the good and the bad days would be a gargantuan task for her, and for the first time she let herself openly doubt their relationship on the whole.

Looking up, she was surprised to see the place she'd taken herself. It was the Leaky Cauldron, a pub that used to ramshackle, frequented by wizards that fit the scene. In the back of the pub, there was also the entrance to Diagon Alley. The building didn't look so drab anymore; the old owner had died a few years prior and had left it to his son, whom no-one even knew about at the time. The son was a little bit more eccentric, especially what his taste concerned, and now the outlook of the building was warmer and cosier. At least, as warm as could be managed with the wood that had turned black over time and the sinister looking sign above the door. Hermione thought that was the result of a condition in the will of the previous owner to keep the same furniture.

Without hesitation, she grasped the doorhandle and pushed the heavy door. It was amiably warm inside, and a smell of smoked ham and sweet butterbeer hung in the air, mixed with the smell of newly-baked bread from the stone-oven in the back. It was too early still for the regular folk to be about, and only two seats at the bar were taken, one by an unshaven man in suit that was clinging onto his third bottle of butterbeer and one by a man in black. Could it be? She exhaled slowly, but couldn't move.

"Is it you?" she said under her breath. At the same time, the man looked up. If he was surprised to see her in a place like this, he didn't show it. She, on the other hand, was frozen to the spot and stared at him intently. Not in a hundred years did she expect to meet him again, and flashes of dreamy memories made a blush appear on her cheeks.

Ever since she clumsily bumped into him, he'd left a stamp on every other thought. It was mostly curiosity, though, nothing more. She recognised a likeminded soul when she saw one, but she wanted to know more about him. From what she retained of his image, he was an inconspicuous, yet very present person, with eyes that reminded her of vast marshlands mottled with late-autumnal sunlight. The rest of him was a blur, vague outlines of a tall man that she filled in to her own liking.

Seeing him again in this murky setting, another clearer image fixed itself onto the sketchy one she held in her mind. The man cleared his throat and made a small gesture, beckoning her towards him. That was when she realised she was still staring at him, feet glued to the doorstep.

Gingerly, she came closer and sat onto the barstool. "Minister, what a pleasure," he said amicably, putting his glass of wine gently down.  
"Hi," was the only thing Hermione managed to utter. His warm voice engulfed her for a second, and just momentarily prompted a memory from long ago that she couldn't pinpoint.  
"Fancy a drink?" the man asked her.  
"Er, yes... no! No, I owe you this one," Hermione said abruptly, her thoughts interrupted, "Butterbeer? Or another glass of red wine? Or something else? Personally, I take to Dragon Scale every now and then. Or some Firewhisky. I always save some of that, you know, for a rainy day."  
She thought she saw his mouth twitch. "Oh dear, I'm babbling, I'm way too chatty, but I haven't touched alcohol yet, I swear, I'm so sorry..." her voice trailed away, and her cheeks burned.  
"Firewhisky, it is," he said dryly. 


End file.
